Treats from St Nicholas
by AmadErik
Summary: Originally written for the 6th door of PotO Advent Calendar on tumblr. Leroux based AU where Erik collects his memories about St. Nicholas Day.


Erik, yet again, started to get suspicious about his Christine.

That girl was acting so strangely for a time as days of late November and early December were showing up in the calendar. Erik did not exactly understand why though. He knew already that Christine loved Christmas, it was her favorite holiday from among the holidays during the year, but it was relatively far away for such feverish preparations Christine was into already. Erik did not even know why a one day- long holiday required four weeks of preparations, but it wasn't until the first Sunday of December when Christmas season would have needed to start that year. Erik never liked Christmas in the first place, but this coming year it was his first normal one to spend with his newly wed wife, and so he was less grumpy about sickening preparations, and Christine's cheerfulness compared to the gloomy weather which meant the necessary arriving of another case of nasal infection for Erik - and Erik with a cold is a G-R-U-M-P-Y Erik. With all the capital letters.

She sure noticed his mood swings, and was desperately trying to make him feel better about the inevitable illnesses he had to go through without a proper nose like everyone else, and she, for an unknown reason, kept asking Erik if she was a good girl throughout the year, and though Erik always answered yes, it did not easily occur to him why is she being so insecure about her manners. She was always a well- behaved lady, with a strong will, and a compassionate heart, which made her marry him, the monster in the end.

The stranger thing was she kept implying Erik was also a good boy. How come? True, he did not actively or passively murdered anyone since the wedding, and he did not throw as much jealousy tantrums towards Christine since he finally owned her, but him being a "good boy" was more than a laughable statement to make, after he nearly drowned the Handsome Sailor and the Daroga in the Torture Chamber, and so on. He did not know what Christine wanted to achieve by praising him so blatantly and carelessly, and he did not even feel entirely good because of that. Sometimes it felt like Christine was trying to mock him, to be honest - knowing what a creature he was, he could not wholeheartedly believe praise did belong to him and he deserves to be called nice things. But Christine would never mock anyone…

The bothering issue seemed to be cleared up on the Fifth day of December, in the evening, he saw with even bigger surprise that Christine was cleaning her boots with such an accuracy and so quick movements it was to be expected to catch a fire in the near future.

\- Christine my dear, what in the name of Bach's hardest Fugue are you doing?

\- Cleaning my boots, of course. - She smiled warmly and a hint of nostalgic happiness could be caught in her glance. - You'd better start doing it as well. - She winked.

\- They are clean. - Erik shrugged. - But I am not leaving the house tonight anyway, it does not matter. Why, where are you going?- He snorted, his eyes narrowing with sudden suspicion. - Without me…?

\- I am not going anywhere. - Christine shook her head with surprise. Surprise, though was mistaken by Erik as fright, which angered him a bit. He still was trying his best not to explode yet.

\- So… you are cleaning your boots so nicely to stay at home with your monster husband, doing nothing special. - He growled. - Believable.

\- For Heaven's sake, Erik, don't you know what is tomorrow?- She asked with disappointment.

This sudden sadness and disappointment in her tone made Erik think instead of going on with his jealousy indicated mini drama, and he stopped to wonder what was going to happen the next day, but he could not come up with a solution.

\- I am afraid I am not familiar with Swedish traditions towards Christmas. - Erik looked at her with growing shame.

\- It is not a Swedish tradition, my dear, it is done this way in most of Europe. I am not sure if French celebrate it so wholeheartedly though, I have never seen the ballet girls preparing their shoes for example but maybe because they don't do it at the Opera.

\- But what is it with your shoes… - Erik murmured half loudly, when he suddenly slapped his forehead by full force. - Oh, no… Saint Nicholas!

Christine saw her husband dragging himself across the room in embarrassment to the armchair near the fireplace and he fell in it with a sigh. She called out a few times to him with worry, but Erik did not seem to notice her.

 ** _"_** ** _Promise you will be a good boy at least for two weeks. The last two weeks of November, I pray. Only two weeks. I don't even dare to ask you to act normally for more time as I know you are incapable of that. But for Heaven's sake, be a good boy for two weeks and you will get something nice from St. Nicholas_** ** _"_**

Mother pointed at him accusingly and put her hands together just as if she was really praying. He was staring at her from behind his mask dully, and finally, after not being able to figure out the meaning of the last sentence, he asked

\- Who is that? Is that someone like "Maurice dear"?

\- No. - Mother sighed. - Maurice was my husband and I call him dear because he was very dear to me, until… until…

 _Until you killed him at your birth by your horrid face you pest._ But she did not finish the sentence. She abruptly turned away from the young masked boy and occupied herself by organizing the china cabinet.

\- But then who is Nicholas? - The boy went on curiously.

\- Saint Nicholas is a saint who comes once a year, on the 6th of December and gives gifts to good children.

\- Then why boy never received gifts?

\- I said " **good children** " receive gifts, which is something you failed to be so far. - Mother barked. - I doubt you can be good at all, but let us try. If you behave normally until the evening of the fifth of December, you receive something nice from St. Nicholas.

\- And what bad children get?

\- See, this is why St. Nicholas is good to you so far. - Mother laughed out bitterly. - As if a child is bad, like you are, once the bag man is going to come for them and take them away from their home.

\- To where?

\- Hell! - Mother cried out in anger. - To Hell where you are going to join the damned if you don't turn your spoiled soul towards God in time. You remember what I told you about Hell, do you?

\- Yes, where those burning flames are and bad people are there to suffer forever. - Boy said softly, shaking a bit with fear.

He remembered back how bad it was to touch the hot stove the last winter. He touched it accidentally and all of his palm was in terrible pain for days. Yet it was only one second it lasted for. What is it like to feel that forever?

\- If a child behaves bad, like you do, and make your poor Mother live shorter because hammering nails into her coffin, be certain that God is going to see what you do to me constantly, and know that you will pay for it. Once everything you do will be paid for. Either by good or bad. If you are good you get good in return. If you are bad you will suffer and you deserve it.

Mother did not talk to him again that evening, only walked out of the room with her head hanging low from sadness. He knew she was going to cry again. Her dress was elegantly sweeping the floor as she left.

He was trying his best not to cause trouble for the next two weeks. He was silently walking in the house, doing everything as he was supposed to. He already knew what Mother expected of him: be quiet, obedient, practice the piano regularly for hours not to be around for too long, disappear when Mom was drinking Holy water, practice writing nicely, and pray. He succeeded not making any mischief and be a good boy for two weeks. He even wore tie on Sunday without whining about it being too tight for one in his life.

Only one day remained still. One day to be good and he was going to receive a gift. Oh he wondered what that gift might be. He was already awaiting it with pride and warm feelings in his heart he wasn't yet able to name. May it be a kiss from Mother….? He was hoping to receive that the most, to feel Mother's beautiful rosy red lips against his scarred little face for once. Only once… If he received that he would say it was worth to be good for two weeks in a row, and would most likely be good for the rest of his life if he could receive that gift from St. Nicholas. Or may it be two… **two kisses** … _One for now and one to save…_

It was the fifth of December, after dinner. Mother was doing the dishes when he appeared behind her back, carrying his plate to be washed. He was always late with that as he wasn't allowed to eat with Mother at the same time, so he always finished dinner later.

\- Give it to me and go to bed. - Mother reached out for the plate, not even looking at him.

\- May I help you? - He offered softly but eagerly, wanting to try it out for at least once, what is it like to help Mother with her work. A helpful boy is a good boy…

\- Help…? Do you want to help?

Mother finally turned around to look at him, and examined him with growing hope and interest.

\- I don't recognize you in these past days, you little devil spawn. - She smiled.- No mischief… and for once in your life you want to help me?

\- Yes. - He nodded.

\- Maybe you are not hopeless? - Mother asked, then stepped away from the basin, drying her hands in her apron. - Well, show me how can you do the dishes then.

Boy was so happy to receive the responsible task of cleaning Mother's favorite china plates and mug. The mug was very precious, Mother stated many times it was yet Grandmother's favorite mug when she was a young girl. It was super old and boy was never allowed to touch it with his skeletal fingers. Now that he was allowed to wash it he grabbed it eagerly, and dumped it in the soapy water of the basin, scrubbing it hard to be nice and clean. He was smiling widely beneath his mask, now he was finally able to show Mother what he was capable of!

He was done by cleaning and he grabbed it again to dry it with the cloth next to him. But the movement was too sudden and the ug was too wet and slippery. With a loud gasp he was trying to catch it while it was falling through the air, but his hands were still wet, and the china slipped through his fingers yet again, and shattered to a million pieces on the stone kitchen floor.

Mother turned around with a cry and as her glance met the remaining pieces of her favorite mug she saw her childhood memories shattered… she knelt down on the floor, crying, helplessly picking up some of the pieces, but they were too small to be magically fixed somehow.

\- Mother… I am sorry… - He whispered.

\- You… you are **NOT**! - Mother grabbed his shoulders desperately. - No, you did it on purpose, you… you… you **DEVIL**!

\- No, I did not…

\- Yes, you did! You brat! You BAD- bad- bad child! You lulled me into a false hope you can be a normal child! A child! I hoped I had a son for two weeks but you keep coming back to your old self, you little bastard! I… I… you wicked mean thing I hate you!

\- I did not mean to, Mother! I wanted to help! _Where is my gift_? I was good for two weeks, **you promised**!

\- **You shall receive nothing but a coal next morning to remind you how endless fire is awaiting you! You are wicked and will never change! No matter how you try! Go away… away with you! Out of my sight…**

 _Out of sight, out of mind… is it so, Mother? Do you ever keep your promises? Promises are for fools, are they? I know I shall sleep in the cellar tonight and I will wait for the bag man to come and take me to Hell… but where is my gift you promised to give me? Where is it?_

\- Erik! Erik! Erik please, are you ill?

Shaking with cold, or maybe fear… he slowly opened her eyes. Oh no… he wasn't shaking. Christine, his dear Christine was shaking his shoulder.

With a tired sigh he shook his head in shame.

\- Did I speak…?

\- You did. - Christine nodded with compassion.

\- What did I say?

\- Enough for me to understand why you don't like this holiday. I am sorry you had to meet this beautiful time of the year such a cruel way.

\- Never mind Erik and his earlier life. - He sighed. - If you want St. Nicholas we shall celebrate it. You were a good girl after all. I am sorry I forgot about it. I did not buy you anything. I shall leave early in the morning and get you something.

\- Erik, these don't always have to be things you can put in a pair of boots to make me happy. - Christine smiled and leaned closer to her embarrassed husband.

\- What do you mean? - Erik blinked, still under the shock of his earlier memories.

\- Well, it is not yet the morning of St. Nicholas, but Papa always told me it was allowed to have one treat before the morning arrives. He would always give me one piece of candy, and by morning I found many more in my shoes.

\- And… what kind of gift Christine wishes to have tonight? - Erik's voice sounded like he was an insecure little child yet again.

\- Christine wishes to give, not receive. - She smiled.

She leaned closer, so close her nose touched the top of Erik's nasal bone, where his nose ended. With a smile, she kissed him on the nasal bone and after on the forehead.

\- This… this… this wasn't one… but two.

\- I know. - Christine smiled, and hugged her husband lovingly, gently sitting on his lap. - _One for now… and one to save._

For a time Erik was unable to talk. He was crying so hard he had to turn away for a few seconds from Christine, choking, and having to clean his nose. Yet Christine did not run away from fright or disgust. She stayed, seated on his lap, looking at his uncovered face with love.

\- You know… - Erik cleared his throat in embarrassment, but he smiled in the end, - I am starting to like the day of Saint Nicholas, Christine.


End file.
